tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18871912001199658022016-09-07T21:22:12.091-07:00Musings...Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-8973025585410826222010-12-10T23:56:00.000-08:002010-12-11T00:01:45.139-08:00Change of Location"Musings" is dead, I'm afraid. This past semester (Fall, 2010) in Washington, DC has changed me. Going to try a fresh start over at WordPress. So head on over!<br /><br /><a href="http://acwords.wordpress.com">acwords.wordpress.com</a>Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-78662433475745037962010-05-14T17:09:00.000-07:002010-05-14T17:18:02.341-07:00I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before but...Tim Keller is my favorite preacher, pretty much no doubt about it now. I've never heard anyone integrate apologetics, relevant insight into Scripture, and the supremacy of Christ so seamlessly and effectively. I'd encourage you to check out some of his stuff this summer, and it certainly wouldn't hurt ot recommend him to unbelieving friend or skeptic.<br /><br />Here's something Keller said about preaching:<br /><a href="http://adrianwarnock.com/2009/03/preach-to-change-them-in-their-seats/">http://adrianwarnock.com/2009/03/preach-to-change-them-in-their-seats/</a>Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-84687153842070305172010-05-03T11:45:00.000-07:002010-05-03T12:01:41.495-07:00Next issue of The Master's PieceThe April issue is out, and hopefully May and June are right on the way. <br /><br />You can check out both issues (March and April) here: <a href="http://bobswordfactory.com/BWF_1/Home.html">http://bobswordfactory.com/BWF_1/Home.html</a>Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-15161969331871065372010-04-19T17:00:00.000-07:002010-04-19T17:03:45.541-07:00I've been published again!It's a review of Malcolm Gladwell's second book, <span style="font-style: italic;">Blink</span>. Check it out at RedFence:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.redfenceproject.com/blog2/textpattern/article/390/book-review-blink-by-malcolm-gladwell">http://www.redfenceproject.com/blog2/textpattern/article/390/book-review-blink-by-malcolm-gladwell</a><br /><br /><br /><br />PS: In case you missed it, several months ago I reviewed Gladwell's first book, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Tipping Point</span>, at the same place:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.redfenceproject.com/blog2/textpattern/article/382/book-the-tipping-point-by-malcolm-gladwell">http://www.redfenceproject.com/blog2/textpattern/article/382/book-the-tipping-point-by-malcolm-gladwell</a>Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-51772438553928655932010-03-28T20:25:00.000-07:002010-03-28T20:28:00.429-07:00Shamless Plug for, well, me!The college I'm at recently produced a student publication. The first edition is online. I have a few articles in it. I'd encourage you to check it out for an inside glimpse at The Master's College!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.masters.edu/undergrad/studentperspective/">http://www.masters.edu/undergrad/studentperspective/</a>Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-66367064086398583102010-02-28T15:13:00.000-08:002010-02-28T15:16:27.167-08:00The Beach: An Essay (revised)<w:a="undOvr"> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" defunhidewhenused="true" defsemihidden="true" defqformat="false" defpriority="99" latentstylecount="267"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="0" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Normal"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="heading 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 2"> 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mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;">The following is an updated essay that I posted on here a while ago. It's seen several parts rewritten and edited, and it's been through trial by fire in a workshop with Dr. Simons. Hopefully that means it's better.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;">Last summer, mid-June to be precise, I spent several days camping at Carpentaria Beach. <span style=""> </span>Away from friends, internet, and responsibilities, I realized as soon as the great blue sea came into sight: there's something special about the beach.<br /><br />I do not mean any one specific beach or area of coastland, mind you. <i>The</i> beach. It is the beginning and end of a thousand voyages, the subject of countless songs and legends, the ideal romantic getaway, full of beauty, power, danger, and mystery. Men have bled and died for even a few feet of this razor strip.<span style=""> </span>One could hardly find a better place to spend time alone, yet even in human solitude the wildlife abounds in a flurry of activity. <span style=""> </span>Where would we be, where would our lives be, I wonder, without that crucial meeting point of the sea and land, the bridge between the two great worlds, a springboard from reality to fantasy?<br /><br />As I hiked along the bluffs of Carpentaria I came across a tree. <span style=""> </span>Now this tree had no tangibly outstanding features; I couldn’t even name what kind of tree it was. <span style=""> </span>No leaves graced its gnarled bows as it stretched its few tired gray limbs towards the sky. It looked scarred and beaten. Surely it had endured all manner of winds, rain, lightning strikes, and flames.<span style=""> </span>A certain intangible aura of emotion emanated from its rough bark. <span style=""> </span>I wondered at the things it had seen—the gradual smoothing of the rocks below, the migration of whales and seals, the construction of the oil rigs which now dotted the horizon, perhaps the occasional couple or troubled soul who sought the privacy of the shore below. Standing alone for a hundred yards in every direction, it stood like a lone sentinel watching over the rocks and sand. Only one green branch that sagged to the ground sustained this sage of the coast.<span style=""> </span>It did nothing to detract from the rickety crown adorned only by the nest of a lone black bird.<br /><br />When I took art classes in high school, I would have spent weeks capturing a tree like this with my pastels. If I ever wrote a book involving the sea, I would find no shame in gracing the cover with an image of this tree. There could be a treasure, or some secret message, the key to a life-changing discovery, hidden under it for all I knew. In any half-decent story about this tree, there sure would have been. Should I grow up to be a filmmaker or writer, I may return to that tree to shoot a closing scene or seek inspiration. A fitting deed, I think—something to immortalize this unsung wonder of nature. Surely its story is one worth remembering.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;">I continued on along the bluffs.<span style=""> </span>From the layered rock seeped a strange oily substance.<span style=""> </span>I don’t know whether it came naturally from the depths of the earth or if the operations of the rigs offshore left it as a by-product, but I chose to believe the former.<span style=""> </span>Looking down at my sandaled feet, I took care to avoid stepping in it.<span style=""> </span>All the sand grains and dirt on my feet usually bother me to no end, but at the beach it never matters.<span style=""> </span>Eventually I descended the small rocky face down to the sloping sand below where a series of tide pools lay sprawled before me.<span style=""> </span>My eyes quickly begin probing the shallows.<span style=""> </span>I found nothing of interest as I skirted the pools, eventually wandering across the uneven rocks and toward the open sea where the last boulder jutted out of the water.<span style=""> </span>The wind rustled my shaggy hair while the waves growled in their persistent raging against the land.<span style=""> </span>I paused and inhaled deeply, recalling the words of the Psalmist: “For He founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the waters.”<i style=""><br /></i><br />Much has passed since all of that happened.<span style=""> </span>Were it not for my own note-taking shortly after the trip I probably would have forgotten about that tree by now.<span style=""> </span>Soon the bustle and distractions of summer sunk over me, in turn giving way to autumn’s new semester of books, faces, and computer screens.<span style=""> </span>A few sentimental days of Christmas break flash by like several frames from a film. <span style=""> </span>Days blend into one monotonous memory.<span style=""> </span>The wind comes and goes, the skies rain, the sun shines, and still I find myself fighting the reality of the matter. <span style=""> </span>In the real world there is no buried treasure or happily-ever-after love story.<span style=""> </span>In the end it is no more than a tree. One of thousands—perhaps millions—of its kind, and an insignificant one at that.<br /><br />Over the years, the beach has come to mean different things to me.<span style=""> </span>As I return year after year, with different people and different circumstances, each perspective seems to sing a few new bars of creation’s invisible song. First it was the simple joys of the waves and sand. <span style=""> </span>The big, cold waters always threatened to knock me off my feet. <span style=""> </span>I would run out to the ocean and scamper back to the high ground over and over again as the swells came in after me. <span style=""> </span>I could dig in the sand all day, a poor medium but one in infinite supply, and never grow disheartened or bored.<br /><br />Later on, the waves became little more than afterthoughts as the local wildlife captured my supreme interest. I recall a brief trip out to sea on a sizable sailing boat where a net was let down to drag up all kinds of ocean dwelling life forms.<span style=""> </span>I marveled at the flat fish with two eyes on the same side of their head, the morphing starfish, and the great stingrays. I was only too glad to handle the creatures, especially the pancake sized rays (harmless, I suppose) that fit into my child's hands. On a different trip, I spent hours crawling over a human-deposited rock outcropping in search of crabs. It posed quite the challenge. The green-brown crabs, no bigger than my palm, skittered across the rocks and managed to wedge themselves into crags so thin that even my fearless, prying fingers could not squeeze them out. I eventually learned how to catch these little beasts, until one time a particularly desperate crab sent me running back to my family, screaming at the top of my lungs, a severed pincer clamped on my finger.<br /><br />Next came boogie boarding and ultimate Frisbee. Back then, boogie boarding required big-time skill—nearly surfing-caliber skill—that I fancied myself to naturally possess. <span style=""> </span>Suddenly, the waves were paramount. <span style=""> </span>Long minutes passed in freezing waist-deep swells before anything worth riding emerged from far offshore. <span style=""> </span>If you finally caught a big one, relish it, ride it, take it all the way to the sand.<span style=""> </span>Let the wave do the work. <span style=""> </span>Good job, now go do it again. <span style=""> </span>Even ultimate—a miserable sport to play given the wind and noticeable slope of the beach—can function on the coast.<span style=""> </span>Come to think of it, I can’t imagine a better place to toss a Frisbee around.<br /><br />Today, I still enjoy being teased by the waves, searching for crabs, and throwing Frisbees, but the wonder has grown much greater.<span style=""> </span>Slowly but surely, all the hidden melodies of the beach are beginning to meld together.<span style=""> </span>The endlessly crashing waves—blue-gray under the often cloudy sky—echo softly up the dunes.<span style=""> </span>The giant stained rocks stand defiant against the elements.<span style=""> </span>The thick sand extends to my right and left for miles. <span style=""> </span>The infinite horizon in the distance forever embraces the deep sea. <span style=""> </span>They say the world is shrinking, with jet planes and internet cell-phones, and I supposed in some ways it is. <span style=""> </span>But when I stand out on the wave-swept sands and stare out to sea, I feel small. <span style=""> </span>Maybe, just maybe, the coast has always been the same, and we, with our instant-access world, merely fancy ourselves to be growing.<br /><br />That tree was small, yet huge, all at the same time.<span style=""> </span>I suspect that most hikers pass it up without a second thought, but for the artist, it shakes the imagination. <span style=""> </span>I've never been able to stop any of those waves: waves which contain an entirely new world of creatures underneath them, waves that refused to submit to my sand barricades. Even on my best day throwing the Frisbee, the wind still holds the final say over the disk’s flight.<span style=""> </span>Who am I, a mere sapling of life, to speak to that old, wrinkled tree? <o:p></o:p></span></p>Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-5523550909639522152010-02-21T22:53:00.000-08:002010-02-21T22:56:57.120-08:00I realized I haven't posted in a whileSo I have this little offering, a simple link, an exhortation by none other than Spurgeon.<br /><br /><a href="http://teampyro.blogspot.com/2010/02/plea-for-courage-in-defense-of-truth.html">http://teampyro.blogspot.com/2010/02/plea-for-courage-in-defense-of-truth.html</a><br /><br /><br />Don't worry. Stuff is happening. I'm still working on things and thinking about things, it just hasn't translated into much to write about at the moment.Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-74215313592123159952010-01-25T14:25:00.000-08:002010-01-25T14:36:56.335-08:00Poetry From the Life of Christ--An Excerpt<span style="font-family:georgia;">Here's one part of a larger poem I'm working on, currently titled "Who is This?" Note that these poems I've written from Christ's life are interpretations that draw heavily from Scripture but also factor in my own imaginative take.</span> Enjoy:<br /><br /><br />The fishers quailed before the gale<br />They called to Christ, a humble wail<br /><br />"Lord save us, ere the lightning strikes<br />Or waves come drown us, see the might<br />This pounding, dark, unholy storm<br />Will swallow us before the morn."<br /><br />So Christ looked up, with sleepy eyes<br />And tender care for their poor lives<br />He stood, as God, with pulsing veins<br />And called the wind, the sea, the rains:<br /><br />"Now hear me, all you elements<br />Be silenced, flee from me, repent.<br />In future wrath you'll have your time<br />For now an age of peace is mine."<br /><br />The bruised disciples, safe but stunned<br />Could hardly speak, "Who is this One<br />Who never worries, come what may<br />Who speaks, and winds and sea obey?"Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-23033302163148620822010-01-19T16:05:00.000-08:002010-01-19T16:13:38.366-08:00My Book Review: ONLINE!!!Not sure if I've mentioned this on my blog before, but I've been in contact with Titus Gee, editor of Redfence--an online magazine that focuses on all kinds of good new art, especially that which tends to fly under the radar. This includes films, television shows, music, paintings, and, of course, books. Today, I have the opportunity to officially join the Redfence team and post a review of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Tipping Point</span>, by Malcolm Gladwell.<br /><br />You can find the review here: <a href="http://www.redfenceproject.com/blog2/textpattern/article/382/book-the-tipping-point-by-malcolm-gladwell">http://www.redfenceproject.com/blog2/textpattern/article/382/book-the-tipping-point-by-malcolm-gladwell</a><br /><br />enjoy!Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-82307340179550243332010-01-05T16:33:00.001-08:002010-01-05T17:14:37.576-08:00Poetry From the Life of Christ--First InstallmentSo I've started reading through Luke, and figured it might be cool, or at the very least a good exercise, to pen some poetry in response to the text and my own meditations. Here is the first, raw and barely edited, based on Luke chapter four:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Wilderness Temptations</span><br /><br />Behold the Christ, the Man, alone!<br />Limbs drip with weakness, footsteps fall<br />On rock and hill and bramble wild<br />Two sandals pasted gray with dust<br />For forty days He has endured<br />The devil's e'er persistent thrusts<br />While looking ever heavenward<br /><br />Indeed, Belial, presses on<br />And entertains a desperate want<br />To cause a stain in Jesus' life<br />Now at the peak of hunger pains<br />The serpent coils, about to strike<br />For he has yet temptations three<br />Prepared in hell's dark furnace flames<br />To fell the Son of Man today<br /><br /><br />At first he plays the sycophant<br />And sees the pain of hungriness:<br />"If you are God who made the hills,<br />And turns the planets by Your hand,<br />Then take these stones I hold for you<br />And turn them into loaves of bread.<br />Loaves fresh and warm with sate the hurt<br />With sustenance that you deserve."<br /><br />But Jesus turned, and looking down<br />Did cast the rocks upon the sand,<br />And brought to bear a sharper blade:<br />The perfect, mighty, written Word.<br />"Man shall not live on bread alone.<br />What need have I to use these stones?"<br /><br /><br />The stymied devil stumbled back<br />Yet battled on with new assaults<br />He grabbed the hand of Christ and flew<br />Into the sky o'er all the world<br />A flash in time of precious lands--<br />Great kingdoms, armies, broken souls.<br />"I'll give these nations all to You<br />At nothing but a simple price:<br />Just bow to me, proclaim my name<br />Relieve them from imprisonment."<br /><br />How dastardly the Devil's plan!<br />All other men would fall, no doubt.<br />For how could Jesus pass up this:<br />A chance to miss the future cross<br />And reign without the blood and strife?<br />Perhaps His life He would preserve,<br />But what salvation could he craft<br />For Adam's seed on judgment day?<br /><br />Again, He seeks the ancient Word<br />"You shall worship the Lord your God,<br />And He alone deserves the praise.<br />Now hear Me Satan, hear Me now:<br />I'll please My Father constantly.<br />My kingdom comes by other means."<br />And so the pair fell back to earth<br />A starving King; the lord of flies<br /><br /><br />The devil's wits remained intact<br />As he prepared the final shaft<br />To blackened God's own holy Son.<br />The jewel city, named by peace<br />Could be the scene of Christ's disgrace.<br />Clutching Him, he winged away<br />And set the Lord upon a spire,<br />The temple's pinnacle, alone,<br />Above the lowly cobblestone.<br /><br />"If you're the Christ," the devil called<br />"Then jump, and see what God will do.<br />He said Himself that 'He'd command<br />His angels on behalf of you'<br />And 'On their hands they'll bear you up<br />In case your foot should strike a rock.'"<br />While in his mind old Satan thought,<br />"He must bend to my will at last<br />When challenged by this holy psalm."<br /><br />Then Jesus spoke, with heart incensed,<br />"You tempter, you would dare to speak,<br />Perverting My own holy Words.<br />Be gone, I say, for Moses wrote:<br />'You shall not test the Lord your God.'<br />And even now I do refuse<br />To heed on poisoned word from You!<br />In weakened flesh My Spirit still<br />Will ever stand, and truth prevail!"<br /><br />As this temptation passed away<br />The devil took to flight at last<br />Across the darkened evening sky<br />To bide his time in twisted thought<br />Until another chance should come.Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-35290479851442783972009-12-31T13:34:00.001-08:002009-12-31T13:34:45.326-08:00Further Thoughts on Christians and ArtI think there are a few issues that could arise from my previous post that should be addressed for the sake of clarification purposes and a more complete view of the issue.<br /><br />The main lesson people should take away is the dire need for Christians to pursue excellence in every aspect of their art. If art really is being done for the glory of God, we should not be content to turn out half-baked, low quality, uncreative, cheap, imitations--even if they mention Jesus once or twice. This, I think, captures the root problem with much of Christian art today. Many artists are losing touch with reality and becoming so caught up with getting our "Christian" message across that the quality and originality of the <span style="font-style: italic;">means </span>of communicating this truth is shoved in the backseat. Obviously it is okay, nay, vital to preach Jesus to people and share the gospel through art. What I take issue with is the fact that excellence in one's trade is part of the Christian's personal testimony. Implicit in the command for obedience (and the concept of letting one's "light shine before all men") in the midst of an unbelieving world is the pursuit of excellence. That's what doing all things for the glory of God is about. It's about employees serving their bosses like they were serving the Lord. It's about painters trying to create masterpieces fit for the halls of heaven. It's about musicians making music as if Jesus was in the front row of the audience.<br /><br />The second question point someone might make arises from secular art. How are we to address masterpieces--brilliant musical compositions, timeless stories, etc.--created by godless heathens? How can we honestly call their art "good" if it was created for completely perverted reasons? The answer, as best I can reason for the time being, is threefold:<br />1. Art in and of itself is neutral, so we can appreciate when it is done well regardless of the motives, and we can do it whether or not the artist realizes that he is emulating his creator. A professional football player, for instance, may be a godless, selfish jerk. He might even score touchdowns purely for selfish reasons, but that shouldn't stop the Christian football player from appreciating his skill and seeking to emulate the talents he displays on the field.<br />2. Remember that art is, at its core, <span style="font-style: italic;">imitation</span>. This means that good art will effectively capture reality in some way. Christians are realists--we want to understand things as they really are. Like a good teacher who is an atheist, it is possible to find benefit and appreciation for anything that helps us see the world more clearly for what it is. All truth is God's truth after all, and even though it can be perverted and misused, that doesn't make the claim itself inherently worse. I once heard an analogy comparing the unbelieving world to blind squirrels. Every once in a while, they stumble upon a nut of viable truth. No one is shut off from general revelation, so all men are exposed to and can see the truth to one degree or another.<br />3. Brilliance in art can give us a glimpse of man before the fall and hence better understand the original goodness of God's creation. Out of the three points, this one is probably the least helpful, but it worth consider nonetheless. Dr. Jack Simons has hypothesized that the fall of creation not only brought sin and suffering into the world, it also damaged our intellect. This means that Adam and Eve were geniuses before the fall, so every instance of genius that we see now--great works of art, people who can multiply huge numbers in their heads, and so on--are actually examples of people breaking through to a certain level of the mind that only existed before sin. In other words, works of genius in the arts are prime examples of my original point about art: man is able to mimic the creative work of God and show us even more vividly the mysterious process that is creating things.Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-14383971040910010652009-12-23T16:35:00.000-08:002009-12-26T19:29:44.026-08:00How the Christian Artist Should Approach Artsubtitled: "My Musings on the True Nature of Art"<br /><br /><br />One quick disclaimer before I attempt to take off: this post represents a theory in progress; I don't think you can find many of these ideas explicitly in Scripture, but as far as I know they are born out of a Christian worldview; please feel free to question, compliment, and/or criticize.<br /><br /><br />Art. Perhaps in no other area do Christians have a wider spectrum of perspectives, opinions, and rules. You can paint this subject but not that one, you can watch this movie but not that one, you can listen to this band but not that one. It's worth doing, it isn't worth doing. There are cultural anorexics and cultural gluttons in the body of Christ, and it seems everyone is eager to either exercise freedom to do something or to condemn those who partake in certain types of art. Amid all the blurry lines and opinions, it is odd that no one seems to bother defining exactly what art is. What makes some art better than others? What makes it worth pursuing or shunning? I think the answer is quite simple in concept yet wonderfully complex and beautiful in practice. The chief goal of the artist is to "play God" by creating beautiful works of art reflecting His creativity and genius.<br /><br />It sounds scary at first thought to think of the artist as "playing God." But I think that is the essence of human creativity. We are made in the image of God, meaning our goal is to serve as a mirror for His glory, and art, no matter how creative or original, is always <span style="font-style: italic;">imitation</span> at its core. When the artist paints a picture, composes a song, or writes a story, he is reflecting the creative nature of God. It doesn't necessarily or definitively say exactly who God is, nor does it replace God. However, when a painter works on a painting, he should be able to say "look, this is what God is like when He creates."<br /><br />Now obviously we humans are limited first by our mere human intellect and even further than that by our sin. It blinds, restricts, and hampers artistic prowess. Moreover, as created beings ourselves, man as an artist is bound within the medium of creation. All we have is what has already been made. God is the only Being capable of creating <span style="font-style: italic;">ex nihilo</span>--out of nothing. Just like everything else, man is merely a tiny, finite, and blurry picture of God, and he is dependent on God's complete and ultimate sufficiency. Nothing can be made or created by man that is 100% new. "Nothing is new under the sun"Solomon observes. The "stuff" we have now is the same core "stuff" we had at Creation, nothing less and nothing more.<br /><br />Therefore, the artist is presented with one of the grand tasks of man: to <span style="font-style: italic;">emulate </span>Creator God in his craft. This is a sharp distinction, I think, from any other field or specific calling. The biblical scientist seeks to understand how creation works, the godly businessman is able to provide for the Lord's work via funding and influence in high places, the athlete seeks to maximize the body that God has made in His image and use it to achieve remarkable physical feats, and the pastor is charged with the sacred duty of accurately teaching God's word and giving people a true understanding of God and how to obey Him. Unlike all of these, the artist is something else entirely because he is called to powerfully and practically reflect the creative and sovereign brilliance of God. I say "creative brilliance" in that he should seek to create works of beauty and value. Writers, and perhaps composers to an extent, seem to be further charged with emulating God's "sovereign brilliance." That is, telling a story. This takes into account all of the intricacies of human nature, probability and necessity, morality, and perhaps even fantasy.<br /><br />Let us consider the art of writing as an example, I may be stretching this just a little, but I think a legitimate argument could be made that there exists a parallel between story telling and God soverignly working his will. The correlation isn't exact, of course, but it seems that storytelling gives us as clear of a picture as any. Think about it. For one, there is a certain set of characters with certain distinct dispositions in a story. God has created a lot of people and knows each one of them perfectly, He knows exactly what they are prone to do, and He somehow intertwines His perfect direction and control with the free will of men. The skilled author, on the other hand, creates His own story with certain characters. He knows them perfectly, and is thus able to guide their actions to eventually lead up to a certain conclusion. If the story is a good one, it fits within the laws of probability and necessity, yet still remains under the author's all-powerful hand.<br /><br />Now I'm not saying that God is bound by any "probability and necessity" laws, but surely He must remain, for one, consistent with His own character. He also tends to keep reality--the laws of nature in creation and the way we experience things--consistent throughout the unfolding of His grand story in creation. Even more intriguing, we find many examples in scripture of God working out His will through very natural, human, means. It is not as if He forcefully pushes everything right into places, but instead creates and (for lack of a better term) manipulates creation in a way that is consistent with itself and Himself.<br /><br /><br /><br />Now for the upshot of all this. What does it look like in real life? What can artists everywhere take home and apply from this notion of "playing God." Perhaps there is not much specifically. Our cultural standards for beauty and artistic style change. It's also not necessarily wrong to involve and utilize sinful things in our art. Scripture is full of surprisingly explicit wickedness, so it certainly seems possible for a Christian author to include murder scenes or prostitutes in his book and have that be honoring to God. For the time being, let us distill it all down to two working principles of good art.<br /><br />One, Scripture should be held as the ultimate example of prime literature in the arts. Dr. Jack Simons has made the observation that were the Bible not true, it would instantly become the greatest work of literature in human history. Everyone who has read the bible critically must recognize, to some degree or another, that it is a work surpassing human genius. When God gave us His word, He gave it in a beautiful form, and it is fair to say that Scripture is perfect even in its artistic aspect. One of the reasons the Bible is the world's bestselling book is probably due to its sheer artistic brilliance. As Christians, we can both accept it as truth and embrace it as good art.<br /><br />Two, the Christian artist ought to be able to present his or her art to God as an act of worship with a clear conscience. Much of art is a conscience issue. Some artists are more free than others to portray certain things or use certain words, and it's okay because of the freedom we have in Christ. That said, I would challenge all Christian artists to consider this: if Jesus were to come back to earth and stand before you, would you honestly be able to present your painting, song, or story to Him and say without hesitation, "Look Lord, see what I have created for You with the gifts you've given me?"<br /><br />Jerry Bridges defines doing all things for the glory of God as desiring that everything one does be pleasing to God and that it would honor God before other people. Christian artists must not lose focus of this. They need not worry about the specific content so much as what God thinks of it. Show me the piece that truly pleases God and exults him before men through it, and I will show you a piece of truly good art.Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-50517154319179044302009-12-13T14:38:00.000-08:002009-12-13T14:42:37.537-08:00The Beginning of WisdomThere's a interesting thing about this whole college experience. The farther and farther along you get, the more you come into contact with professors and students. And the more you come into contact with all of these very smart people, the less and less you realize you know.<br /><br />It seems the end product of this is, at its core, humility.<br /><br />Don't mistake this for the postmodern notion of relative truth or the inability to know any sort of ultimate or absolute truth. Rather, diving into the depths of God, reality, and the world we live in definitely brings a lot of hard and fast knowledge, but as you swim deeper and deeper into the sea of God's love, for instance, you start to see that there is whole lot more down there that you still haven't explored. <br /><br />A wise man once said "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." Later on, he wrote about how there is more hope for a fool than a man who is wise in his own eyes. Turns out that the older you get, especially in your relationship with God, the more and more true that becomes.Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-21582534900049644922009-11-26T11:55:00.000-08:002009-11-26T12:35:36.662-08:00On Being ThankfulJust a thought today. I know that God has done so much more for me and given me so much more than I can ever realize. Sadly, knowing that I'll never be able to thank God fully can sometimes lead to a tendency of not wanting to try.<br /><br />That's so bogus. If this is your temptation too, don't buy into it. Throw yourself into the infinite pool of God's mercies this Thanksgiving Day. After all, if it's something so wonderful that the human mind can't grasp it, I'd say it's worth a try to at least start grasping some of it.Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-38667601134175723902009-11-19T16:08:00.000-08:002009-11-19T16:12:51.579-08:00Some more poetry, this time a dramatic monologue<w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables> <w:snaptogridincell> <w:wraptextwithpunct> <w:useasianbreakrules> <w:dontgrowautofit> <w:splitpgbreakandparamark> <w:dontvertaligncellwithsp> <w:dontbreakconstrainedforcedtables> <w:dontvertalignintxbx> <w:word11kerningpairs> <w:cachedcolbalance> </w:cachedcolbalance> <m:mathpr> <m:mathfont val="Cambria Math"> <m:brkbin val="before"> <m:brkbinsub val="--"> <m:smallfrac val="off"> <m:dispdef> <m:lmargin val="0"> <m:rmargin val="0"> <m:defjc val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent val="1440"> <m:intlim val="subSup"> <m:narylim val="undOvr"> </m:narylim></m:intlim> 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font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} p.MsoNoSpacing, li.MsoNoSpacing, div.MsoNoSpacing {mso-style-priority:1; mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:10.0pt; line-height:115%;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:16pt;" >From East of Nineveh</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><br /></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><br /><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:16pt;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >There’s nothing for me, a broken prophet<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >To whom death appears much better than life.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Heading to Tarshish or a desert tomb<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Is where I’d rather be, instead of spared<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >To see this city repentant and free.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Perish the thought that I should run from God<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >That I should try to flee Your sovereign gaze<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >I knew that You would never turn away<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >A penitent people, if they sought You<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Away at sea You sent a violent gale<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >My stick came up short, they tossed me over,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >And it would have all ended back then<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Sinking into the depths, light growing dim<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Until your mercy found me in the sea<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >When the leviathan swallowed me whole<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >For three days I lay there, as in a grave<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >In the reeking darkness, weeds, and bones<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >From the belly I began to suspect<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >That I might live on.<span style=""> </span>I prayed and confessed<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >“Your hand is mighty to pull me away<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >From the errant paths, far outside Your will,”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >But these Assyrians, though on their knees<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Should drink the bitter cup they themselves brewed.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >I’ll freely warn them if they’re to be damned<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >See why I turned west? <span style=""> </span>I cannot bear it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >How could this great blackened bastion of hate<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >And violence, greed, lust, stinking things<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Find a welcome heart and forgotten crimes.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >They, heartless, who would skin me alive,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Men, women, and children alike have died<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >At the hands of these fell barbarians.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >You were supposed to stay with my people<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Remember the covenant that you gave?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >You once brought we Hebrews out of Egypt<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Into fertile lands of milk and honey.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >We who offered up sacrifices, true<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >To you year after year, and kept every<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Perfect statute You gave.<span style=""> </span>Can You, in truth,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Compare our worth with those uncircumcised?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >So you see why I am angry; I have <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >All the right to pity this shriveled vine,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Small but beautiful tower of green life,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >That once protected me as I waited <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Waited for your mighty hand of judgment.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Fire and brimstone would have done the job,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Or the sword of an avenging angel.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >There’s nothing for me, a broken prophet<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >To whom death appears much better than life.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Heading to Tarshish or a desert tomb<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Is where I’d rather be, instead of spared<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >To see this city repentant and free.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >I care naught for this senseless deliverance.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12pt;" >Maybe in Sheol I will forget this mess.<o:p></o:p></span></p></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></m:brkbinsub></m:brkbin></m:mathfont></m:mathpr></w:word11kerningpairs></w:dontvertalignintxbx></w:dontbreakconstrainedforcedtables></w:dontvertaligncellwithsp></w:splitpgbreakandparamark></w:dontgrowautofit></w:useasianbreakrules></w:wraptextwithpunct></w:snaptogridincell></w:breakwrappedtables></w:compatibility>Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-84613314876586262462009-11-10T15:33:00.001-08:002009-11-10T15:33:11.086-08:00CreativityThe college experience is huge, there are so many things going on at TMC, so much to learn, and so much to experience. These are all good things. Chapel is great, fellowship is great, the local church is beautiful.<br /><br />But at times like these, when I sit down at my computer to type out whatever is on my mind--whatever I want to write about, there just might be one weakness to The Master's College (besides the pathetic lower-caf hours). It lacks a creative output and an emphasis on creativity in general. We all want to be orthodox. We want to be spot on theologically. We're trying to understand the church, to shun what is bad and emulate what is good. We get involved in activities and try to keep the tradition and truths continuing through the generations. We try to be like Christ, which is a radical self-denial that seeks to <span style="font-style: italic;">copy</span> someone else.<br /><br />All of these things are good, to be sure, and ought to be pursued. Obviously we should want to be like Christ and want to figure out what He has said in His word. However, I can't help but think that we should be little creators as well. I want to be a writer--an artist. I want to be original and brilliant in my writing for the glory of God. Sometimes, this whole cycle of taking tests, talking about classes, and reading scripture suffocates any thinking beyond a certain point. It doesn't take me to new places or new ideas like it probably should. I've had some great experiences, but praying with a bunch of guys on a whim outside your dorm room isn't exactly an event to build a story around. It's nice to write about theology and the things going on in my mind, but there are men here many times more godly and qualified than I who are already doing that...and doing it very well.<br /><br />To be sure, there is a certain element of art that Christians (particularly those in charge of institutions, like John MacArthur) fear, and they are right to do so. Trace the arts back in time, and you arrive at the pagan theater of ancient Greece. There's no getting around this, the arts of western civilization may very well have their roots in demonic activities. Why? Because art is magic. It stirs something within our souls. Far from being a mere escape, it makes us <span style="font-style: italic;">feel</span> things. Art possesses a great amount of power in this regard, power to influence people. Through it one is capable of working great evil, or great good. That's where the danger lies. That's why art can be risky.<br /><br />I know why I'm not seeing a ton of true creativity happening here at TMC. Even though it's certainly not what it could be, it's better than an out-of-whack liberal dump of tolerance and free expression. I love the place, but there are few here that I would describe as genuinely creative. Either that, or perhaps it is a weakness I've created for myself. After all, the college certainly isn't keeping me from writing the next Chronicles of Narnia. It's my own idiocy and naivete.<br /><br />Perhaps that's really what I need to work to overcome.Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-26733381169755558102009-10-11T18:47:00.000-07:002009-10-11T18:56:19.461-07:00One thing leaders must come to grips withIn the fresh aftermath of Outreach Week, during which I lead a team of eight students to Lighthouse Bible Church in Simi Valley, I'm realizing much about the church and about myself.<br /><br />Namely, there's a reality about spiritual leadership that one must come to grips with. When you lead, there will be those "under" you who are <span style="font-style: italic;">lots more sanctified than you, in lots of ways</span>. You can't fall into the trap of thinking you're godly, or things will get really frustrating, hard, or depressing...or a mix of those. When that horribly wonderful moment of realization comes, you have to be ready to fall back on Christ, 'cause your own strength sure isn't going to be enough. I mean, it's not like you can just will yourself to knock on a door to invite someone to church, or convince yourself by your own fleshly means that you need to show love to someone.<br /><br />So it's not so much that I have regrets about my actions as it is regrets about my perspective and attitude over the whole thing. Christ certainly wasn't at the forefront of my thoughts like He should have been. Leading doesn't make you one iota better or worse than anyone else, you just have to be willing to be an example and take the blame.Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-80196088033087419212009-09-27T09:08:00.001-07:002009-10-02T13:28:34.569-07:00gods they could controlYesterday, I made the rare choice to go to Saturday night church at <a href="http://www.gracebaptist.org/">Grace Baptist</a> with some friends from school. The worship and message by David Hegg were great: it was good to be reminded of God's promises and character, and to see the faith of Abram. However, there was one, almost offhanded, phrase that Pastor Hegg offered in his sermon that really made me see something in a new perspective. When speaking of the Caananites in Abraham's day, he spoke of the "gods they could control."<br /><br />Gods they could control. The more I thought about that, the more I realized the dangerous problem with almost every (if not all) false religion or philosophy out there. The pagans of the Ancient Near East had gods they could control. They were always pressed to manipulate or please their gods by manner of some ritual or sacrifice. When they did it, the god must inevitably respond in a certain way. They taught that the gods were powerful, but it was actually they who could turn the gods to and fro as they willed.<br /><br />Kind of shoots down the health and wealth gospel, doesn't it? Send in a one-time gift and God will bless you ten-fold! How controlling and manipulative of God is that? It is just like man to fashion a god of his own making that he could control. In fact, it makes perfect sense why many beliefs have moved away from the God of scripture and towards faith in a being that we can have some control over. Sacrifice to make him do this, pray this prayer and he will do that, yadda yadda yadda.<br /><br />And the more you think about it, the more it should really make you glad that God doesn't answer all of our prayers just as we pray them. Should we actually want God to submit Himself to any and every specific prayer that we pray "in faith?" He is so much bigger and better than that. The God of the bible has no need to subject Himself to our prayers or sacrifices. It goes against all of human nature to invent a God that humbles and works above human thinking like no other, yet that is what scripture presents us with. I see no reason why He can't be real, because no one would have wanted to create a God of infinite mystery, wisdom, and power that we could have no controlling effect over. <br /><br />Praise God that He doesn't submit Himself in any ways to His creation unless He is working out a plan all of His own.Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-37326105413269947162009-09-18T20:15:00.000-07:002009-09-19T00:39:17.079-07:00Some poetry I've written for a class...enjoy!Summer<br /><br />I thought my plans would change me for the good<br />But memories came soon to take their due<br />The graduation stages called, "Do not<br />Forget the days you lived and worked for fun!"<br />I see the sun come up and days grow long<br />A "little sleep" and "folding of the hands"<br />And I become a lesser man. Pick up<br />A friend and throw the disk. Another time<br />For work will do. So click and click, tick-tock<br />Tick-tock, and evenings free fade out. They're gone<br />My spirit longed for profit. Sloth has set<br />The tone for all my days at home. I dig<br />Through mediocre games. Can I relight<br />Their spark and fan the flames of former days?<br />Put off the hard and we'll relive the nights<br />Of chance and vic'try, cards and dice, and more.<br />Thus enter months of wasting, two or three.<br />But grace remains and calls me back to where<br />My heart caught fire. What can I say except<br />That apathy has torn away what could<br />Have been my finest hour--a time of truth<br />And beauty for my King.Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-39305952895691880852009-09-12T13:19:00.000-07:002010-01-04T11:00:47.445-08:00Life ObservationThere are a few things in life that I doubt will ever get old, and I mean that in a very carnal, non-spiritual way. I speak of those things in life that are just plain awesome every time you experience them. They are few and far between, for sure, as even the most fun video game and even one's best friend can become boring or downright annoying.<br /><br />As of now, two simple pleasures of life that have stood the test of time without flaw thus far are ultimate frisbee and sweet tea. I cannot recall a time in life nor conceive of myself ever getting sick or bored with either of these. Ultimate, perhaps the most perfect "college-kid" sport that will ever be invented in this world. Sweet tea, a simple but wondrously delightful beverage that remains far from delicacy status but never wears down on the taste buds for some reason.<br /><br />Ah yes, the simple pleasures in life...Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-61845846694173182082009-08-30T23:53:00.000-07:002009-08-31T00:38:00.774-07:00The Calm Before the StormIt is approaching midnight as I write this. The caffeine from a Coke keeps me awake and alert. Classes start tomorrow.<br /><br />As cliche as it sounds, it really is a brief calm before the storm for me. I suspect that for the rest of the semester not a night will go by without leaving plenty of homework and stress in it's wake. Countless thoughts flurry about in my mind. WOW was only kid stuff, just some fun to get people acclimated to the college environment. Now it's game time--time for the rubber to meet the road. The wing looks fantastic. Lots of great guys, plenty of good times to look forward to, I've just finished a great talk with my friend and Resident Assistant. A substantial amount of pretty girls have joined the ranks of TMC students. Three Communication classes and a sweet bible class promise a good year in the classroom. <br /><br />Doubt. Apprehension. Relationships. Encouragement. Conviction. Despair. The gospel.<br /><br />Heavy issues, but we're made for them, right? The flesh wants hours of Facebook and mediocre friendships, but grace is always sufficient. Let us pray that continuing measures of it are on the horizon. I will candidly admit to anyone that I don't have this whole leadership thing down yet. It's hard to imagine that God would put me in a position like this. I hardly know the first thing about anything, but here I am on Slight Lower-Back with new converts, music majors, athletes, and more. All one can do is pray at this point: "God I'm a loser and a failure, I'm clueless, help. Honestly Lord, please help!"<br /><br />A Switchfoot song reminded me today to keep a heavenly perspective. I do belong somewhere past this setting sun, finally free, finally strong. Still, that only increases the urgency of the situation. I'll only go through this process two more times at most. Before I know it I'll be graduating, the world before me, then hopefully family and work, and then the end--just like that.<br /><br />So <span style="font-style: italic;">now</span> is the time to "throw it down." I may only have one or two more years with these guys. Even in seemingly distant things like marriage, I need to start preparing my heart and lifestyle today, because if there's one thing I learned in church today, it's that I still have a long way to go before I become a true man in God's eyes. Titus 2:6 talks about young men being self-controlled. Not quite as simple to master as some might think.<br /><br />Could I be a trendsetter? Could I be the guy that starts something or guides something in the right direction in Slight Hall this year? The guy that people come to with problems even if I've never had a girlfriend? That's not for me to decide, but I'm gonna try.<br /><br />And knowing myself, I'm going to fail, and I'm going to lean on God's grace more and more as a result. I'll probably make a fool of myself, and end up in an awkward situation or two, and say stupid things to people. The quest has been set before me, and there's no turning back. Still, our swords are so sharp, and the gospel is so awesome. It's a pity I forget about them so often.<br /><br /><br />Maybe someone will enjoy reading this. I haven't proofread it yet so please forgive any typos and/or nonsensical rambling.Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-66319540497091169712009-08-21T16:42:00.001-07:002009-08-29T12:15:35.249-07:00WOW thoughtsFor starters, I'm an ARA (Assistant Resident Assistant, yes that's what it means) in Slight Hall this year at The Master's College, and I've come back a few weeks early for Week of Welcome--hereafter to be referred to as WOW--which is the time when new students are welcomed to the school.<br /><br />It's really an interesting phenomenon when you get several hundred people together who have never even seen each other before. There's the inevitable social animals who make themselves right at home. There's the one's who develop into a little clique and hang out with the same people all week. There's the loners who are off by themselves just being shy or selfish or hateful or something. And then there's the ones who don't really know how to start a conversation with anybody, but they hang around any person they know even somewhat well.<br /><br />I was one of these last people, and it's really interesting to see, personally, how I've changed in the past year. The perspective from this side of WOW is much different than the receiving end because now, I understand that the key is to meet lots of people--to just turn around to some random person behind you in line and say "hi." It is not all that difficult either, as long as one approaches it with the proper perspective. I do suppose, after all, that the pressure to impress people and actually make new friends is significantly smaller as an student leader because of returning friends and staff members that you already know.<br /><br />Then, of course, we have the WOW group, a mysterious conglomeration of random people who get to hang out for a week. This is perhaps the most hit and miss element of WOW. My groups last year and this year have been fantastic. The new students in my group this year hit it off on all cylinders as well, or better, than expected. The one "jock" isn't too cool for the rest of us, and the one really weird kid, you know, that <span style="font-style: italic;">really strange</span> one, manages to fit in with everyone somehow, even adding some timely humor and funny discussions.<br /><br />But even with all the fun times and new people that I met, the whole SLS experience managed to humble me significantly. Thinking you can serve and love people all the time is one thing. Living it out at 7:00 in the morning after having less than six hours of sleep per night for the past week is another matter entirely. Paul says that the spirit is willing and the flesh weak, but sometimes it feels like both of them are pathetic.<br /><br />The fact of the matter is this: I'm still new at this whole "leadership" thing. Stepping up and providing direction and enjoyment for a group of seven people that I barely know doesn't come naturally to me. As much as I'd like to be that guy who knows how to smoothly and consistently interact with people while remaining organized and on top of the week's activities, I'm not, and I cannot be...<br /><br />But that's where grace comes in. God never promises us as believers that we will not fail--else I'd fear the security of my salvation--but He does say that His grace is sufficient. That's the bottom line. I jack things up over and over again. I do irresponsible things. I act harshly or rudely to someone. Even after all of these stupid and selfish things, <span style="font-style: italic;">I still have Christ</span>. The reality and importance of the gospel, even today, cannot, must not, be forgotten. So you messed up and shamed the name of Christ, you'll learn, you'll get better, God will be glorified one way or the other because He is bigger and stronger than a week of six hour nights and awkward situations. I'm reminded of the lyrics to one of the songs we sang this week:<br /><br />You are stronger<br />You are stronger<br />Sin is broken<br />You have saved me<br />It is written<br />Christ is risen<br />Jesus You are Lord of all<br /><br />Can I get an "amen?"Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-62809157530023739102009-08-13T16:07:00.000-07:002009-08-13T16:11:07.426-07:00Random ThoughtAs I was reading the scriptures the other day, a strange hypothetical occurred to me:<br /><br />If Switchfoot were a book of the bible, they'd be Ecclesiastes.Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-11268016692037827522009-07-13T12:28:00.000-07:002009-07-22T22:18:23.858-07:00Those Calvinists...Of which I am one. I've been thinking about all the responses to the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubSposVe9CY">local "hit" film, Seeds</a>.<br /><br />Watch that film, and I don't think it's hard to tell that the main message has <span style="font-style: italic;">strong</span> Calvinist and Reformed theological leanings.<br /><br />"You can only plant the seeds, whether they grow or not is up to God." That's about as Reformed as it gets.<br /><br />Yet, despite that fact that many Arminian folks have likely seen Seeds, no one seems to have a problem with that. No arguing that people should be free to accept or reject God. No problem with God having the choice to save some and not others. Nope. All I've heard is "great movie," "that was hilarious," and the occasional "good/great message, I really appreciated that."<br /><br />Upon some thought, and given several months of hindsight, I'm starting to think that maybe most Christians are really more sympathetic to the Calvinist (and biblical) theology of salvation that they'd care to admit. Maybe the Calvinist tag is a turn off to some, but something tells me it's more than that. That deep down inside, the Holy Spirit is urging all Christians to acknowledge the all-powerful sovereignty of God and give all glory to Him. This urging is especially strong in the realm of salvation. We don't like the idea of man being dead in his sins, but it's even harder to reject the idea that God doesn't have (or at least doesn't exercise) the power to save sinners when and how He chooses. We really want to think that we have a say in our salvation, but the thought that our salvation might be insecure based on our will is terrifying.<br /><br />In the end, of course, it all comes down to scripture, and therein lies the strongest aspect of the theology of Seeds. "I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither he who waters or he who plants is anything, but God who gives the growth." You can't argue with the clear teaching of God's word, and this passage is pretty darn clear. I honestly can't see how the Arminian would respond to Seeds, even though it's quite simple and straightforward. Come on Christians, we don't choose to be saved. We are incapable of doing so, but God isn't. He is the one who made a way of salvation, the one who chose us before the foundation of the world, and the one who shapes and remakes our wills as He draws us to a relationship with Him.<br /><br />Like it or not, that's the truth, and that's what I tried to capture in our screenplay.Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1887191200119965802.post-15434225043679464492009-06-15T10:48:00.000-07:002009-06-24T13:41:13.278-07:00The Beach: an essayI recently spent several days camping at Carpenteria Beach--that's Southern California for those who don't know. I spent a lot of time thinking and reminiscing. The beach in general has never played a huge role in my life, but it does hold a significant place in my thinking. My mind wandered as I drove back to Bakersfield, one of the most nondescript cities in the United States, and I realized for the hundredth time: there's something special about the beach.<br /><br />Not any one specific beach or area of coastland, mind you. <span style="font-style: italic;">The</span> beach. It is the beginning and ending of a thousand voyages. The subject of countless songs and legends. The ideal romantic getaway. Full of beauty, power, danger, and mystery. Men have bled and died for even a few hundred yards of this razor strip running all over the world, yet it is home to so much. Where would we be, where would our lives be, I wonder, without that crucial meeting point of the sea and land, that bridge between the two great worlds, that springboard from reality to fantasy?<br /><br />As I was hiking along the bluffs of Carpenteria, I came across a tree. Now this tree possessed nothing tangibly outstanding. No leaves graced it's gnarled bows as it stretched it's few tired gray limbs to the sky. It looked scarred and beaten. Surely it had endured all manner of winds, rain, lightning strikes, and flames. Nevertheless, it was awesome. I wondered at the things it had seen--the gradual smoothing of the rocks below, the migration of whales and seals, the construction of the oil rigs which now dotted the horizon, perhaps the occasional couple or troubled soul who sought the privacy of the beach below. Standing alone for hundreds of yards in every direction, it stood like a lone sentinel watching over the rocks, sand, and sea creatures below. Only one green branch that sagged near the ground sustained this sage of the coast, and it did nothing to detract from the rickety crown adorned only by the nest of a lone black bird.<br /><br />Years ago, when I took art classes, I would have spent weeks capturing a tree like this with my pastels. If I ever wrote a book about the sea, I would find no shame in gracing the cover with an image of this tree. There could be a treasure, or some secret message, the key to a life-changing discovery, under it for all I knew. In any half-decent story about this tree, there would have been. Should I grow up to be a filmmaker or writer, I may return to that tree to shoot a closing scene or seek inspiration. A fitting deed, I think. Something to immortalize this unsung wonder of nature. Surely its story is one worth remembering.<br /><br />In hindsight as the bustle and distractions of summer sink over me, I find myself fighting the reality of the matter. It is no more than tree. One of thousands--perhaps millions--of it's kind, and a pathetic one at that.<br /><br />Over the years, the beach has come to mean different things to me as I have gradually fallen in love with it. First it was the simple joys of the waves and sand. I would run out towards the ocean and then back to the higher ground as the last swell came in after my feet. The ocean was cold and always threatened to knock me off my feet. I could dig in the sand all day, a poor medium but one in infinite supply, and never grow disheartened or bored.<br /><br />Later on, the waves became little more than afterthoughts as the local wildlife became of supreme interest. I recall a brief excursion on a medium-sized boat where a net was let down to drag up all manner of ocean dwelling life forms like flat fish with two eyes on the same side of their head, starfish, and even several stingrays. I was only too gland to handle the creatures, especially the pancake sized rays that fit even into my child's hands. On a different trip, I spent hours crawling over human-deposited rocks in search of crabs and starfish. It posed quite the challenge. The green-brown crabs, no bigger than my hand, sped across the rocks and managed to wedge themselves into crags of rock so think that even my fearless, prying fingers could no squeeze into. I eventually caught one of these foreign creatures, and recall once running back to my family, screaming at the top of my lungs, with a severed crab's pincer clamped on my finger.<br /><br />Next came boogie boarding and ultimate frisbee. Back then, boogie boarding required skill, skill that I seemed to naturally possess. Suddenly, the waves were paramount. Long minutes would pass in waist-deep freezing salt-water before anything worth riding emerged from far offshore. If you finally caught a big one, relish it, ride it, take it all the way to the sand. Well done, now go do it again. Even Ultimate--a miserable sport to play given the wind and noticable slope of the beach--managed to produce more entertainment on the coast than anywhere else.<br /><br />Today, I still enjoy being teased by the waves, searching for crabs, and throwing a frisbee through the fresh salt air, but the wonder has grown much greater. The endlessly crashing waters--blue-gray under the oft-cloudy sky--the giant stained rocks standing defiant against the elements, the rocky sand extending to my right and left for miles, and of course, the infinite horizon. They say the world is shrinking, but when I stand out on the wave-swept sands and stare out to sea, I feel smaller even though nothing has really changed. Maybe, just maybe, the coast has always been the same, and I'm the one growing.<br /><br />That tree was small, yet huge, all at the same time. I've never been able to stop any of those waves, waves which contain an entirely new world of creatures underneath them. And even on my best day of frisbee, the wind still holds the final say. Indeed I could play the warrior in an ancient epic on these shores or sprout wings and fly inches above the white-topped crests, but I've never been a king of these lands. No man has.<br /><br />And no man ever will.Andrew Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880433047229094910noreply@blogger.com1